'Good for you, Jack the Lads. You always made me chuckle when you were in my class, Jack, even though you were so naughty and you're still making me chuckle now. Well done, all of you,' says Mrs Riley.

'Your scores, please, ladies and gentleman,' says Mr Roberts.

Mrs Avery gives them ten, Mr Juniper eight, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley give them both nine. So that's it then. The Jack the Lads have got thirty-six. Only one less than Angel scored this afternoon, I think they'll win this evening and although this hurts, I'm truly pleased for Jack. I grin at him when he comes panting backstage, still terribly out of breath.

'Well done!' I whisper.

'I thought I made a right prune of myself,' he whispers back. 'I didn't mean to fall over. It didn't half hurt too! But it seemed to work, didn't it?'

'You know it did,' I say. 'I think you'll win.'

'Rubbish. You will,' says Jack.

'You're both talking rubbish. I'm going to win again,' says Angel.

'Shh!' says Mrs Linley as she puts on the music for Girls Very Soft. They're very good, but a bit boring. We all know their little step-shuffle routine and join in backstage, though Mrs Linley glares at us and gestures to us to sit down. The panel all make positive comments and the girls end up with twenty-eight, not a bad score at all.

Then it's Fareed and Hannah. They still haven't got the hang of half the tricks. The audience don't laugh so much, trying to be kind, so their act doesn't work so well until right at the end, when the toy rabbit gets stuck in Fareed's hat. He struggles, tapping it hopefully, biting his lip.

'Look, it's in there somewhere, Fareed,' Hannah hisses. She scrabbles inside the hat and yanks it out. There's a sudden burst of helpless laughter as she waves the poor mangled toy in the air, its ears drooping, and they both end up with a big round of applause though they don't score high.

The Dancing Queens are good well, they look good in their pink T-shirts and little black shorts and flashing tiaras, and one of their mums has made them up with silver eyeshadow and pink lipstick, and sprayed pink streaks in their hair. Mr Juniper goes pink himself watching them and gives them a nine. Miss Evans likes them too, but Mrs Avery isn't quite so keen, and Mrs Riley says they're all lovely girls but she wishes their act wasn't quite so . . . sophisticated. Wait till she sees Angel!

Then there's Natalie and her friends doing the play. Mr Roberts went over it with them after school and he's helped them cut half of it but it still seems ultra long-winded and very silly and shouty. When they finish at last, someone in the audience gives a huge cheer. It's probably Natalie's dad. The teachers don't rate them at all, though Mrs Riley says they've all clearly tried extra hard and it was a brave attempt.

'And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Angel Thomas, this afternoon's overall winner. Give her a big hand,' Mr Roberts bellows.

Angel elbows her way past us, wiggling her big bottom. There's enthusiastic applause as she stands on the stage. She grins and waves her hands, mouthing More, more! milking it for all she's worth. Maybe Angel's going to win again.

She does her cartwheels, she performs her little crab act, she spins on her bottom with such gusto it's a wonder she doesn't rub a big hole in her leggings. She finishes differently this time, doing rather wobbly splits, but this gets her more applause.

'Well done, Angel, that's certainly an incredible dance routine,' says Mrs Avery. 'No wonder you won this afternoon.'

Angel positively glows but Mrs Avery only gives her a seven, as does Mr Juniper, Miss Evans gives her an eight and Mrs Riley a six so she hasn't won this time. She gives us all a shove as she comes backstage, absolutely furious.

So Jack's still in the lead but now it's Raymond's dance, and he is so brilliant. He whirls around and leaps up in the air, twiddling his feet, his head up, his arms out, the whole line of him perfect poised. No one whistles or yells silly things at him this time, everyone watches, totally rapt, and when he's finished everyone claps like crazy. Mrs Avery stands up to clap him, smiling all over her face.

'Well done, Raymond. We're so lucky to have such a brilliant dancer at our school. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we're flocking to watch you in a real dance company in a few years' time,' she says and she gives him ten.

Mr Juniper gives him nine, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley give him nine too.

So that's it then. Raymond's won, with thirty-seven points. At least he deserves to come first. I clap him as he bounces backstage, and Jack pats him on the back though Angel glowers.

'It's not fair if Raymond wins,' she whines. 'He's been going to his poncy dancing classes for years and years. Of course he's going to know more twiddly steps than any of us.'

'Shut up, Angel,' says Jack. 'He's better than us, full stop. And we don't know whether he has won yet.'

'There's only rubbish acts left,' Angel hisses. 'Them two stupid boys mucking about, then the Speedos doing their little swoopy dance, and Destiny caterwauling. They're not going to win, are they?'

'Just ignore her,' Jack mutters, though I think she's right.

Jeff and Ritchie certainly aren't any competition, though they look funny now because someone's lent them tutus and they've certainly got bottle to go out onstage wearing those fluffy white sticky-out skirts. They still haven't worked out a proper routine. They just flounce about and teeter on the tips of their trainers. It's funny for a few seconds but quickly gets tedious and the teachers vote accordingly.

'Now we have another astonishing dance routine. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm delighted to introduce the very talented Superspeedos,' says Mr Roberts.

My stomach starts churning. I'm next, I'm next, I'm next. My throat tightens and I'm not sure I can even speak, let alone sing. I watch the Superspeedos sweeping through their routine. Jack fidgets by my side, watching them anxiously too. He doesn't seem to mind Raymond beating him, but I know he'll hate it if the Superspeedos get a better score than the Jack the Lads. There's very loud applause at the end, and Mrs Avery goes on and on about their hard work and how they've proved practice makes perfect. Jack groans, especially when she gives them another ten. Mr Juniper gives them an eight, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley both go for a nine so that's thirty-six, exactly the same score as the Jack the Lads.

Jack breathes out and grins.

'Our last act on Bilefield's Got Talent is a little lady with an astonishingly large voice. Please give a warm welcome to Miss Destiny Williams,' Mr Roberts shouts.

Jack reaches out and squeezes my hand. 'Good luck!'

I stumble out of the wings and onto the stage. It's exactly the same stage as this afternoon, so why does it seem so much bigger? There's a spotlight on me, half blinding me so I can't see the audience. I can't even see Mum right at the front. She's part of the dark blur but she's out there, I know she is, and I can't let her down. I detach the mike from its stand and wait till the audience are quiet.

'I'm singing this for my mum,' I say into the mike. It's so powerful it makes me jump hearing my voice boom out so. 'It's her favourite song. So this is for you, Mum.'

There's a few 'Ahhh's, a few groans and several nervous giggles. Mrs Avery, Mr Juniper, Miss Evans and Mrs Riley are all sitting in front of me, looking expectant. Mr Roberts is at the side of the stage, looking a little worried now.

'Take your time, Destiny,' he whispers.

I've taken my time. I open my mouth and start singing.

'You are my Destiny . . .'

My enhanced voice fills the large hall. It feels so big and powerful I picture it spilling out, flooding the corridors, bursting out of the windows, rushing in a torrent along the roads until the whole town is awash with the sound. Maybe far, far away in Robin Hill, Sunset and our dad are listening, hand in hand.

I sing each word, thinking of it as a deeply personal message for me, not just a simple love song. I feel it in every part of me. I ache with it, and after the last long note I'm wrung out, exhausted, near tears. There's a long silence. I take a couple of steps towards the wings, wanting to hide but then the clapping starts. Such clapping! I'm dazed by the noise. All four teachers are on their feet, clapping. Mr Roberts is clapping! And down there in the audience there's Mum. I can see her now the lights have gone up a bit. She's standing up and cheering oh God, the embarrassment but there's lots of people standing. It's all right, they're all showing me they like me so why have I got tears running down my face?

Mrs Avery's dabbing at her own eyes. 'Oh, Destiny, that was marvellous. I've been lucky enough to hear you sing before, and I knew you had a lovely voice, but that was just incredible!' she says.

Then it's Mr Juniper's turn. Surely he'll still hate me.

'I think your voice is awe-inspiring, Destiny. It's practically rendered me speechless. However, I've got just enough breath to remind you that we have a little detention date, so see me on Monday after school!' He's trying to look fierce, but he's laughing everyone's laughing.

'You've got a thrilling voice, Destiny. I could listen to you for ever,' Miss Evans gushes.

'It's hard to believe such a big powerful sound could come out of such a slight girl! You've given us the performance of a lifetime, Destiny,' says Mrs Riley.

'Wonderful comments, Destiny,' says Mr Roberts. 'You're clearly going to get a high score but you've got Raymond's excellent thirty-seven to beat. Teachers, may I have your scores, please.'

They hold up their cards. Ten, ten, ten, ten! I can't believe it! I've got a ten from each of them, even Mr Juniper, so I've got forty, maximum marks, and I've won! Poor Raymond but lucky, lucky, lucky me. I've won the contest, I've won it for Mum!

I want to rush down into the audience and hug her, but I have to stay up here on the stage while Mr Roberts presents me with a WINNER pin-badge a gold one this time.

'A gold star for a gold-star performance!' he says, shaking my hand vigorously.

His own hands are wringing wet, but what does it matter? He's a lovely teacher, they're all lovely teachers, even Mr Juniper. Mr Roberts calls everyone out onstage to line up and take a final bow. Jack comes leaping out and gives me a big hug in front of everyone!

Then the contest is finished, but it's not all over: there are refreshments juice and tea and little bits of cheese on Ritz crackers and we can go and mingle with our parents.

Mum's already got a cup of tea when I get to her, and we hug so hard we nearly spill it all over her best blue top.

'Oh, Destiny, you sang it so wonderfully!' she says.

Lots of parents come up and congratulate us both, even Angel's mum, though Angel herself glares at me and says that silver is ultra-cool and gold is just tacky bling.

Miss Lewis, our IT coordinator, comes up with her big camera. 'I've been recording the show for the school archives. I can easily burn you a DVD of the show if you'd like it, Mrs Williams,' she says.

'Yes please, that would be wonderful!' says Mum.

I raise an eyebrow at her. 'We haven't got a DVD player, Mum!'

'Yes, but I can always borrow someone else's, can't I?' she says. 'I want to relive every single moment.'

I don't need a DVD to remind me of my performance. I'll remember every split second of it for the rest of my life. It plays inside my head all evening and long after Mum's asleep I relive it. It's wonderful that I've won. It's amazing that all four teachers gave me ten out of ten, even Mr Juniper who never gives full marks to anyone. It's great that I beat Angel and that Jack gave me a hug. It's fantastic that Mr Roberts said when I was going home that he was really proud of me. But the best thing of all was standing there onstage, my voice soaring, nailing every note.

I lie wide awake, not wanting to go to sleep, savouring it all. But I obviously sleep at some stage because I wake with a start in sunlight. Mum's standing over me with a breakfast tray.

'Hi, sleepyhead,' she says. 'I thought I'd better wake you. It's gone eleven!'

'Oh goodness! I bet you've been up for hours, Mum,' I say sleepily.

'Just done a bit of tidying. You know me, I'm hopeless at lying-in even on my day off. I was thinking, Destiny shall we have a little day out to celebrate? We could go into Manchester, look round the shops, maybe go on the big wheel? Or we could maybe catch a train to the seaside. It's a lovely day.'

'It's a bit late, isn't it, Mum?'

'Well, we've got all day. We can please ourselves, little singing star,' says Mum, playfully pinning my gold star on my pyjama top.

I look at it proudly, letting my finger outline its five little points, wondering whether I'd sooner go to the shops or the seaside. Though weren't we going to do something else on Saturday? I puzzle in my head and then remember with a start.

'Oh, Mum, we're going to the doctor's!'

'What?' Mum acts like she doesn't understand for a moment. 'Oh, for heaven's sake, Destiny, I don't want to spoil a lovely free Saturday going to the doctor's. I'm fit as a fiddle anyway, there's no point.'

'Mum, you promised!'

'Yes, all right, I will go. I'll make an appointment for next week will that make you happy?'

'You're going this morning!'

'I can't, I haven't got an appointment, silly.'

'You should have rung up and made one earlier! I should have woken up and made you. Oh, Mum, how could I have forgotten?' I take two bites of toast, a big gulp of tea, and then get out of bed.

'What are you doing? You haven't finished your breakfast!'

'I'm going to get washed and dressed and then I'm going to drag you to the clinic and see if they'll make room for you somehow.'

'You're acting daft, Destiny. I told you, I'll go next week. Don't let's waste this lovely day trailing off to the medical centre, especially as I'm one hundred per cent certain they won't see me anyway.'

I think Mum's probably right, but I can't give in. I look down at my little badge, horrified that I could have been so caught up in my own success that I forgot all about my mum's health. I can see plain as anything now that she's ill. She's not just thin, she's not just anxious. It's as if she's got something inside her and it's burning her up.

'You're coming with me,' I say.

'I'm not going to that clinic, not this morning.'

'You're coming, even if I have to pick you up and carry you there,' I say. I make a sudden grab at her and lift her right off the ground. There's so little of her now it's like picking up a six-year-old.

'Put me down, you mad girl,' says Mum, struggling. 'Ouch you're hurting!'

I look down. My pin-badge has scratched her chest. It's only a little scratch but it looks alarmingly red on her white skin.

'Oh, Mum, I'm sorry,' I say, setting her down gently.

'It's all right, I'm fine,' she says.

'No you're not, and you know it. You're just scared of going to the clinic and seeing a doctor.'

'Well, is it any wonder?' Mum says. 'Suppose I am ill, seriously ill what do we do then? Suppose there's nothing the doctors can do to make me better?'

She's nearly crying now and I put my arm round her.

'You mustn't be frightened. There'll be heaps of things they can do. They'll get you better in no time. They'll just need to find the right pills,' I parrot.

I'm trying to be comforting, but inside I'm terrified. What if they really can't make Mum better? What if it's cancer? What if she's dying? How can I ever live without my mum?

I get washed and dressed in double-quick time and then we set off for the clinic. We go by the shortest route, through the estate. As if I'm scared of silly boys in gangs now. I've got far worse things to worry about.

The word clinic makes you imagine a gleaming building with nurses bustling around in white uniforms and patients sitting subdued, silently waiting their turn to see the doctor. This clinic is an ugly little prefab, with graffiti sprayed all over the walls. Inside it's pandemonium: little kids running up and down, people shouting, and one receptionist looking like she's going to burst into tears.

'Let's go home,' says Mum. 'I can't be doing with all this. I feel a bit woozy.'

'Exactly. That's why you're here,' I say, hanging onto her hand. I tug her up to the receptionist. 'Can my mum have an appointment for this morning, please?'

'What? No, the clinic's nearly over, and we're completely booked up. She'll have to come back on Monday,' she says dismissively.

'OK, I'll come back Monday,' says Mum. She's got beads of sweat on her forehead. 'Come on, Destiny. It's so hot in here. I need to get some air. It's all right. I'll come back on Monday, like she says.'

But I know she won't come back, she's far too afraid. She'll go to work and I won't be there to make her.

'I'm so sorry, but this is an emergency,' I say.

'All our emergency appointments are taken. She'll have to come back on Monday,' says the receptionist, getting impatient.

'Destiny, I'm going all swimmy,' Mum gasps, and then she falls to the floor, crumpling up at my feet.

'Mum, Mum oh, Mum!' I crouch beside her, slipping my arm round her, putting her head on my lap. 'Oh, Mum, please wake up. Please be all right. Please don't die!'